


the switch;

by yavanei



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, what's better than makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yavanei/pseuds/yavanei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two ways this can end, but both ways feature two unchanging elements:</p><blockquote>
  <p>1.	Akashi Seijuurou.<br/>2.	A kiss.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	the switch;

It’s late, just after evening, when Midorima comes home, removing his shoes before walking to the kitchen when he hears –

"You’re beginning to test my patience. If I wanted to do your job for you, then I wouldn’t have hired you," Akashi says. "Your incompetence will have to wait until tomorrow’s board meeting."

There’s a click, followed by a loud thud when Akashi tosses the cell phone onto the nightstand. He strides out of the bedroom, bare feet moving with purpose across the wood flooring.

The collar of his white button down is wrinkled, black tie loose around his neck, and one side of the shirt has been haphazardly untucked from his unbuckled pants, which are currently precariously loose around his waist. Midorima surmises he received the call just as he was in the process of changing.

Akashi hasn’t seemed to notice his arrival; his mind already focused on the next task as he pulls out his laptop and takes a seat in front of the living room’s low coffee table.

"Seijuurou," Midorima says, alerting him to his presence.

He angles his head, and there’s a decidedly cold look in his eyes – an aura Midorima recognizes all too well. A slight sensation of fear seizes him, worry creeping into the pit of his stomach.

"I apologize," Akashi says, and his tone is amicable, incongruous with the tension radiating off of him and the hard set in his shoulders. "I didn’t hear you come in."

Midorima shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over one of the kitchen chairs as he appraises Akashi. “Did something go wrong with the acquisition?”

Akashi looks away like Midorima’s said something he finds amusing, red eyes narrowing to pins at the screen of his laptop.

"The target company rejected the terms of our offer.”

Midorima mouths a soft, “Oh,” and watches as Akashi wrings his hands together and rolls his neck side to side trying to alleviate some of the pent up tightness in his muscles.

Akashi goes still for a moment before laughing under his breath.

"It’s no matter. They can decline the terms if they wish. I will simply enact measures to takeover their company now. By the time I’m through, their shareholders will be profusely displeased with them."

The room is dark save the soft glow from the screen of Akashi’s laptop, but even in this dim setting Midorima can see the lines under his eyes and the hard set in his jaw. His red hair is slightly disheveled as well. Midorima can fondly remember all the times he’s seen Akashi absentmindedly run his hands through it when he’s working.

The worry in Midorima’s stomach twists into a knot.

"Is that necessary?"

“It is.”

“There's no other alternative?"

"There is none. It will increase profitability and stability, and most importantly I will be eliminating a competitor.”

Midorima’s brow creases and he places one hand against the table, palm absently moving back and forth across the grooves in the wood. The soft clack of keys can be heard as Akashi’s fingers type at the keyboard.

The truth of the matter?

Akashi Seijuurou is restless. It’s the uncertainty that eats at him – the danger that comes from the unknown, and the idea that there is something out there which is impossible for him to tear down. (But this is the double-edged sword isn’t it? The chaos and uncertainty that arises merely from living is precisely what makes it worthwhile.)

"You haven’t been sleeping enough.”

"I’m fine."

"I really don’t think –"

"That’s enough, Shintarou," he says, locking eyes with him.

Midorima’s fingers drum against the table, the only sound in otherwise silence between them. He does not break eye contact with Akashi. He knows exactly why he’s behaving this way. This deal is hugely important to sustaining his business, but the undue pressure surrounding the takeover is weighing on him; it’s causing his control to fray. The dissociation only worsens the longer he goes without sleep and Midorima worries that such extreme bouts of stress and sleeplessness are entirely capable of causing the other him to take precedence.

“‘Enough’? Are you trying to make me laugh? I’m not one of your employees, Seijuurou,” Midorima says. “I am, however, a licensed doctor, and I am advising you to get some rest.”

Akashi’s eyes seem to turn a deeper shade of scarlet in the moment after Midorima’s words leave his mouth, but he is staring at him with a jarring, eerily serene expression.

Midorima simply crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at Akashi.

After a few seconds pass, Akashi’s expression shifts to one of bored disinterest and he breaks eye contact first. Without a word, he calmly closes the laptop, walks into the bedroom, and shuts the door behind him.

 

There are two ways this can end, but both ways feature two unchanging elements:

  1.       Akashi Seijuurou.
  2.       A kiss.



 

Now, choose –

Option A.

 

“Shintarou.”

His voice is silky smooth, and Midorima recognizes it immediately despite still being deep asleep. (How could he not? It’s less memory than it is instinct at this point.) When Akashi says his name, it sounds like the chords of a violin – a melody reaching out to meet him halfway.

Midorima just barely opens his eyes, still caught in the state between sleep and wakefulness, and in the dark he can make out Akashi’s form bent down next to the couch.

"You were right. That was… unbecoming of me."

With gentle, light fingertips, he brushes green bangs out of his eyes, and tilts his head down. His nose brushes against Midorima’s cheek, and he places a soft kiss to his lips. Midorima’s eyes widen marginally, successfully roused out of his sleep. Akashi’s fingers trail across the angles of his jaw, and when he draws back he runs his thumb back and forth against Midorima’s bottom lip.

"I’m just concerned. Ever since this deal…" Midorima sighs against Akashi’s hand, and nips lightly at his thumb.

"I know," Akashi glances away, eyes focusing somewhere just to the left of Midorima’s head. "I will try to handle this more carefully, and quickly.”

Wordlessly, he hands Midorima his glasses from the coffee table.

Midorima sits up slightly, putting them on as he says, “We both know you could dismantle the whole world if you wanted. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

“Now you’re just flattering me. How unlike you,” Akashi smiles. “But you forget, Shintarou…”

He trails off, and Midorima sees his lips, a shade of plum in the dark, momentarily open and then close… open and then close. Just as he would place a shogi piece on the board after long, thorough consideration, Midorima studies the details of Akashi's face, analyzing and weighing every angle and shadow. Akashi closes his eyes, then, as if reflecting on something long past – something from the pools of memory. Midorima’s breath catches in his lungs, trapped in the pitch-black room, and –

“Forget?” he asks, voice quiet.

Akashi glances back down and takes Midorima’s hand in his own. He peppers slow, deliberate feathery kisses at the inside of Midorima’s wrist and his open palm.

“You forget…” Akashi pauses, “who would order me to rest?”

Midorima laughs, though he is well aware Akashi is deflecting from whatever words laid just on the tip of his tongue. It’s alright, though. Akashi doesn’t have to say anything. Midorima knows what he’s trying to get across.

Akashi winds his fingers between his, and tugs gently at Midorima’s hand, urging for him to follow.

"Now, come to bed," he says.

Akashi doesn’t have to ask twice.

  
Or –

Option B.

 

“Shintarou.”

His voice is silky smooth, and Midorima recognizes it immediately despite the din of other voices chattering around him. (How could he not? It’s less memory than it is instinct at this point.) When Akashi says his name, it sounds like he's swallowing him whole – smoke curling into each and every little crevice.

He doesn’t want to turn around. Last week he read in the papers that the finishing touches of Akashi’s takeover went through. They’ve been a month apart but he doesn’t think a lifetime would be enough to dull the way he feels.

As if Akashi can read his mind, he falls in place just next to Midorima, his shoulder brushing against his arm. (The bastard did that on purpose, of course.) Midorima struggles to keep his breathing under control, keeps his eyes fixed on the painting in front of him in a futile attempt at maintaining an air of detachment. He never should’ve attended this exhibition. He certainly wouldn’t have if he had any idea Akashi would also be here.

"You look positively besotted, Shintarou."

Midorima balks, finally turning to look at Akashi, and – _oh_ – he wishes he hadn’t because he’s wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, his red bangs have grown out a little and fall just above the space between his red and yellow eyes and –

Midorima snaps himself out of this train of thought. "What did you just say?"

"How many have you had?" Akashi smiles and looks pointedly at the drink in Midorima’s hand.

Midorima looks down, just remembering he accepted this from one of the catering waitresses when he walked in the door. (Akashi always was far too good at deflecting.)

"Hardly any," Midorima says, turning back to face the painting which has suddenly become the most boring thing in the entire room.

There’s a lengthy silence between them until, "You look well. I’ve missed you."

He says it so _matter-of-factly_ , and it’s beyond irritating to Midorima in a way that _only_ Akashi can be.

"As I recall, it was you who pushed me away,” Midorima purses his lips.

"I won’t deny that," Akashi says. "But what I said still stands. Have you thought of me?"

He frames it as a question, but they both know it’s not. Akashi already knows the answer, he wouldn’t ask otherwise.

"How long has it been since you last saw your psychologist?"

"I have an appointment scheduled next week."

Midorima shakes his head, but says nothing. Akashi doesn’t need his hand held. He knows Akashi is perfectly capable of taking care of himself because he’s always been disciplined much in the same way Midorima is. The difference, however, is that he tends to navigate to his goals in ways that often appear counterproductive to Midorima.

"Don't be irritated with me, Shintarou…”

Midorima's hand tightens around the glass, instinctively preparing for whatever Akashi is going to say next. The atmosphere in the room has changed and there's an electric friction poised just between them which Midorima is helpless to stop – all part of Akashi's plan.

“You know the only doctor I listen to is _you_ ,” he says, tone of voice uncharacteristically alluring.

There’s a push and pull between them that Midorima has sorely missed, but he’s never been one to surrender without a fight.

"I didn’t come here to play mind games with you, Akashi."

"Oh?"

Midorima feels him place a firm hand to his shoulder and the next thing he knows he’s being forced to lean down for Akashi’s benefit.

"Then why did you come?" he whispers the question straight into his ear, his lips hovering _just_ over skin of his earlobe.

In that moment, Midorima’s singular thought is how on Earth he’s managed not to break the glass of champagne in his hand into pieces with how fast his entire body has gone taut, practically quivering beneath Akashi’s touch.

Akashi knows, too. Midorima knows he can see exactly what’s going on in his head, with his eyes he can see the acceleration of his breathing and he can –

 

Akashi flicks his tongue against his ear.

 

Midorima’s composure completely crumbles.

 

Akashi peers down, winds his fingers between Midorima’s, and tugs him – as if Midorima would even dream of saying no at this point – outside. Akashi walks ahead, pulling Midorima with him as he leaves the sidewalk and enters a paved alley between two buildings.

The only light down the path is from a white paper lantern a few feet away, swaying softly in the wind, marking the entrance to a tiny shanty-style bar. Midorima's forehead creases in confusion. He opens his mouth, preparing to ask Akashi where they’re going, when he feels Akashi’s hand slip from his and push against his chest.

Akashi presses his taller form against the opposite building’s paint-chipped exterior and kisses him hard, tongue edging its way into his mouth. Midorima meets his mouth immediately – hungry and _insistent_ in a way he didn’t think was possible.

A month was too long. A month wasn’t long enough. He needed more time, needed a few more months, needed to build up an immunity. (It wouldn’t have mattered. Akashi’s particular brand of poison is too adaptive. His virus strain would’ve simply evolved, and shattered right through Midorima’s defenses.)

Akashi pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, sucking at the tender flesh until it’s swollen before he tilts his head and follows up with another ravenous open-mouthed kiss.

Midorima can taste traces of alcohol on Akashi’s mouth. It’s unusual because he rarely drinks, but Midorima can’t bother focusing on this detail long when he feels Akashi’s cold hands deftly snake up the hem of his shirt. His fingers splay out, staining across his hipbones.

Akashi moans low and greedy into his mouth, the noise reverberating between Midorima’s teeth in a way that makes him shudder with arousal.

Midorima pulls away for air, but Akashi anticipates this and is already attacking the exposed column of skin at his throat, pressing his lips to every bit of flesh he can reach. He drags his teeth down Midorima’s neck, sharp incisors an instrument in testing Midorima’s resolve as he bites straight into his flesh.

Midorima’s breath escapes in shaky audible pants, his heart racing and his hands trembling as they fall limp at his side. He angles his head to give Akashi more room, but his mind is suddenly jumping to and fro wondering what he’ll wear to cover these marks before he goes into the hospital tomorrow morning and wondering why Akashi is doing this _here_ of all places when he hears footsteps passing close by them.

As if on instinct, Akashi shoves himself flush against Midorima’s body, completely severing his train of thought as Midorima’s eyes roll back into his head at the agonizing sensation of friction between them. Akashi digs his nails into the skin around his hipbones, deep enough to leave indents, and Midorima groans in the back of his throat, head thumping against the slate wall as he tries to hang onto the last vestiges of his control.

"Make that sound again," Akashi's lips tickle at his neck as he speaks.

“You expect me to just do as you say?” Midorima opens his eyes, laughing.

“No. Allow me to clarify,” Akashi pulls back, his expression stony. “I’ll _keep_ you making that sound all night.”

Midorima’s eyes widen briefly and he stares at Akashi for several seconds before clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses. Slowly, but surely, he wills his self-restraint to return. (After all, it’s much more fun this way.)

“Alright, Akashi.”

Midorima drags a hand up the back of Akashi’s neck, fingers running through his hair. Akashi narrows his eyes, but Midorima manages to draw a pleasured hiss from his lips when he tugs at crimson locks.

“We’ll see about that,” Midorima says.

Akashi’s lips curve into a satisfied half-smile. (This is where the real game begins and they both know it.) Midorima grabs him by his tie, loosening it by a fraction until Akashi places a warning hand over his. He twines his fingers through Midorima’s again.

“Come home with me,” he says.

Akashi never has to ask twice.

**Author's Note:**

> this future fic was inspired after i wrote my [other](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3447821) akamido fic which is placed in the canon timeline


End file.
